The night moon hung high, round and bright, sprinkling its silver glow across the massive Johnson compound. The breeze was soft, calm, and almost cold as it brushed against my skin. I sat quietly at the edge of the swimming pool, letting my bare feet slide into the cold, clean water. The ripples moved gently around my toes, glimmering under the moonlight like tiny diamonds dancing on the surface.
Out here, in this lonely part of the mansion, the world felt silent. Peaceful. Like the only place I could think without interruption.
And tonight… oh, my mind was full.
I hugged my knees to my chest, staring at my reflection trembling on the water's surface. How do I continue my education? That question has lived inside my head for weeks—ever since Mrs. Johnson died.
My chest tightened at the thought of her.
Mrs. Johnson wasn't just a madam to me. She was… mother. Teacher. Adviser. Provider. Protector. She took me in when I was barely sixteen. A timid, scared girl brought to the mansion by distant relatives who wanted me gone from their sight. She didn't adopt me—no—but she loved me in a way adoption papers could never define. She spoke to me gently. She taught me table manners. She bought me clothes, shoes, books… everything I never dreamed to own.
She never, not once, called me a maid.
She would laugh whenever I used "ma" or "madam."
"Call me Mama," she'd say with that warm smile.
And she meant it.
Yet she paid me monthly like she respected me. Provided for me like I was blood. Protected me from the other staff who once looked down on me because I was young. And the most surprising part? She never allowed me to wear an apron except when I was cooking.
"My daughter doesn't serve the house," she had said. "She helps because she wants to, not because she must."
And I took every word to heart.
She also gave me the most personal advice—something she repeated so often that it became part of me:
"Chantel, keep your dignity and keep your purity until you find a man who values you. Your body is a gift."
I promised her.
And I intended to keep it.
The problem now… is surviving life without her.
Without her support.
Without her voice guiding me.
And without her financial help with my schooling.
My high-school fees had been paid by her until the day she died. She believed in my dreams. She wanted me to be educated enough to build a future. But now… I barely know how to continue. I attend school in the afternoons when I can, but how long can I manage without help?
A part of me wondered… hoped… dreamed… that maybe Mr. Thompson would one day remember me, remember I'm still schooling, and offer help. But I never expected it. My place here is shaky. Uncertain.
I made a promise to Mrs. Johnson that I would remain in this house—this house that raised me—until Mr. Thompson asked me to leave.
And I will keep that promise.
Unless he sends me away… I will never leave.
I was still deep in this storm of thoughts when I heard footsteps approaching from behind me.
Soft. Slow. Heavy.
I turned my head slightly—and saw Mr. Thompson walking toward me. His tall frame was outlined by the moonlight, but something darker lingered around him. His shoulders were tense. His jaw hard. His eyes… unreadable.
He was angry. Deeply angry.
Not the usual quiet, gentle, smiling Thompson.
This one was cold. Silent. Distant.
I quickly pulled my legs out of the water and stood up, unsure if I should bow or step away.
But he spoke before I moved.
"What are you still doing here at this time?" he asked, his voice low, stern, and strained—like someone carrying too much in his chest.
He didn't wait for my answer. He simply walked past me and sat on the long wooden bench by the poolside, elbows on his knees, staring into the night.
I froze.
His mood scared me.
He wasn't himself at all.
I made a move to leave, but he shook his head slowly without looking at me.
"Sit. You don't have to go."
So I sat back at the poolside—but this time more gently, legs pulled up close to me. I didn't dare dip them in the water again.
"I… I wasn't feeling sleepy," I said quietly, unsure if he wanted conversation. "So I just came to feel some fresh breeze."
He didn't respond.
Didn't even nod.
He just kept staring into the empty night as though the darkness held answers he desperately needed.
I watched him silently.
Something was wrong.
Badly wrong.
And I battled myself inside—Should I speak? Should I stay silent? Would I be crossing my boundary if I asked? He was my boss, the son of the woman who saved me. I had no right to meddle in his matters.
But he did ask me why I was still awake.
Maybe… maybe it was safe to ask back.
I cleared my throat softly.
"Mr. Thompson," I began gently, "is everything okay? You… um… your mood seems dark."
He stopped.
Turned.
Looked at me.
For a moment, our eyes held—and I saw pain, frustration, disappointment, and anger swirling in him like a storm waiting to break.
Then he looked away and sighed.
He nodded once—just once.
As if saying he heard me, but wasn't ready to speak.
I felt my heart soften.
So I spoke again, quietly, like Mrs. Johnson would.
"Whatever it might be, just remember… it will be fine. Sometimes we go through deep storms only to come out stronger. Always choose happiness, sir… in every situation."
I stood up slowly and gave a small bow.
"I'll leave you to your thoughts. Goodnight, sir."
He didn't stop me… but he did turn his head slightly as if thinking about what I said.
And I left.
Back in my room, I gently opened the small window to let in air. I leaned closer and looked down. There he was—still sitting in the same spot, unmoving, battling whatever was eating at him.
Concern twisted my heart.
"Is he okay?" I whispered to myself.
"Or did he fight with… that demon again?"
I shook the thought off quickly.
It was none of my business.
I tucked the curtains in place, turned to my bed, and began to arrange it. Slowly, peacefully. A small calm settled inside me, and after a few minutes, I lay down on my pillow, pulling the blanket to my chin.
But one last thought whispered through me before sleep finally pulled me away:
I hope he finds peace… whatever is hurting him.
And with that thought, my eyes closed, and I drifted into sleep.